


Literal is Overrated

by dedougal



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Community: cottoncandy_bingo, M/M, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-08
Updated: 2012-10-08
Packaged: 2017-11-15 22:03:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/532263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dedougal/pseuds/dedougal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Witches are now apparently a thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Literal is Overrated

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt making hearteyes. Other than that I have no excuses. Thanks to hollymurph for helping me beat out a little British.

Stiles had never thought about having a life in which he considered witches to be an actual hazard. Werewolves weren’t supposed to figure into that either, but he’d mostly got used to them, and then to Jackson’s lizardy alter-ego. And he knew that there were other… Stiles wasn't quite sure how exactly to describe them. He wasn’t a fan of things or creatures or even monsters. Gerard Argent had proved to him that the monsters were as likely to be wholly human as anything else. And he hadn’t stopped of thinking of Scott as less than human. Or, you know, Derek. Or anyone else.

Witches were new. He had been poking around the whole possibly magic mountain ash man thing as subtly as he could but obviously it wasn’t subtle enough. He had obviously attracted attention. The woman who had blown the powder in his eyes looked perfectly normal – no sign of floppy sandals or dreadlocks or anything. She had a wicked grin.

“This is a warning, Stiles Stilinski.” She turned to walk away. “It’ll wear off, in a few days or so.”

“What will wear off? What did you do? What was the powder?” Stiles rapidly tried to blink away the tears in his eyes but by the time he could see clearly again the woman had vanished. Probably not literally but he couldn’t discount the possibility. Stiles drove home warily, but his vision didn’t seem massively impaired. He even tried driving with one hand over his eye but that led to a near miss with a Dalmatian.

The next morning was a different story. The whole world seemed brighter, more vivid. Sparkly and shiny. It was as if everything had been spruced up and deep cleaned, like he and his dad avoided doing in the house. It was neat. And then he saw his dad. His dad was hunched over his coffee and newspaper but when he looked up at Stiles, little shapes started floating out of his eyes. There were love hearts and little scales of justice and pillows and they all danced about in the air between Stiles and his dad. Stiles blinked rapidly but they didn’t vanish until his dad looked down at the paper again.

So that was weird.

The odd flash of colour and image were all Stiles saw as he drove to school. Mainly he glued his eyes to the road and panicked. School was another matter. Jackson was beside his locker, glaring anvils. Stiles caught the odd sprinkling of green stars and there was an alarming moment when Scott walked past him spraying very enthusiastic hearts in his direction. It was only when Stiles looked around and saw Allison spewing just a pink and throbbing hearts (and possibly little love birds, which made Stiles throw up in his mouth a little) walking on the other side of the hallway.

Stiles could only take so much of this. The weird black tendrils from Harris and the odd blue curls from Finstock made him rethink – or maybe more confirmed – his impression of his teachers. But it was exhausting. After the throbbing tiny penises from Erica, Stiles was more than happy to duck back into the Jeep and skip at lunch.

He couldn’t go home. His dad would know if he went home. That left one option.

Derek was dressed in his usual thin tank top and old jeans – older than usual - when Stiles slipped through his front door. He’d refused to listen to Stiles’ suggestion of painting naked (which was a shame. It saved clothes. And the environment. And maybe if Stiles thought his crush was completely one-sided and never going to happen, it didn’t stop him living in hope of finding Derek naked and enjoying) but was making decent progress for someone whose skills previously had included growling and being a crap Alpha. Stiles could still enjoy the tank. And the arms. And he could put up with whatever Derek would send his way…

Derek looked up from his crouch on the floor and Stiles braced himself for the whatever was going to come his way. He expected anvils, like Jackson, or black tendrils, like Harris. He didn’t expect this.

Derek was staring at him, caught, and all Stiles could see was red hearts, scarlet, pulsating. Worse than Scott and Allison’s. Stiles looked behind him. Nope. No one else there. He looked back at Derek. There were the little birdies there but there were also the tiny throbbing penises (Penes? Penii? Dicks. Cocks) and there were wolves pouncing on helpless figures in red coats and, hey, Stiles only wore his red hoodie on ironically appropriate occasions and… Stiles stared at Derek in shock and surprise. His brain then caught onto what was going on.

Derek had feelings for him. No. Wait. Derek _loved_ him. Derek _wanted_ him. Stiles was aware he was standing, alone, in Derek’s empty house and he now knew there was something returned and was hopeful and he was in real proximity of no longer being the only virgin in their little group of frenemies and that his heart was trying to beat its way out of his throat.

Stiles stumbled forward, blinking rapidly. The stream of shapes from Derek only intensified as Stiles came closer and he could barely make out the expression on Derek’s face behind the sudden surge of hearts. Stiles had to close his eyes against them which led to him tripping and falling towards the no doubt open paint tin. 

He was saved by a warm pair of arms. One set of arms he’d kinda dreamed about (both asleep and during the day) which wrapped around him and drew him close and were really damn nice. 

“What’s wrong, Stiles?” Derek’s voice didn’t match either the care with which he was holding Stiles or the vast amount of strong emotional images Stiles had been overwhelmed with. 

Stiles kept his eyes screwed shut. “So witches are also a thing now. And one cast a spell on me. And I can tell what people feel about me. Jackson had anvils-“ The arms tightened momentarily then loosened to something less likely to crush bones. “And you had-“

Derek growled which derailed Stiles' train of thought. But just for a moment. "And I want you to know that my answer is yes, yes, yes please and yes again. Just in case you were wondering and-"

Stiles’ words were muffled against the warm mouth suddenly pressed against him. It was definitely a kiss but it took him a couple of moments to work that out and Derek was already pulling away. “No, no. More kissing. Please?” Stiles reached forward blindly to grab at Derek. Of course all he could grab was a handful of bicep and nearly naked shoulder. Then Derek’s mouth was on him again, hard, possessive, kinda scratchy from the stubble and entirely wonderful. 

As Derek lowered himself back onto the floor, pulling Stiles down to lie on top of him, Stiles forgot about the witches. Especially when Derek didn’t object to him finally pulling off that irritating tank top. Lots of things deserved to be forgotten about and ignored and - oh god - rethought as Stiles finally got his hands down Derek's pants.


End file.
